


Dancing with Deceptions

by AuroraKant



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bruce Wayne Loves His Son, Bruce Wayne Saves His Son, But Remember..., Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Dissociation, Gen, Kidnapping, Lima Syndrome, Mental Breakdown, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, So many panic attacks, Stockholm Syndrome, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29721132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: It didn’t really matter that the bed was soft, the rug pretty, the shelves filled with books and comics. It didn’t matter that Dick could spy a toilet and a shower behind a privacy screen, or that the desk seemed to be outfitted with writing and drawing materials.Dick was in a cell.Or:Dick spends 299 days locked in a basement. Its not fun. No. Its a very special kind of horror.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 149





	1. Run Boy Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aelig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelig/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Epiphanies in Avalon Heights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25848403) by [CKBookish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CKBookish/pseuds/CKBookish). 



> Hello!!!  
> This was in the working for a long time - mostly because it grew and grew no matter what I did - but now we are finally here!  
> I hope you enjoy it Aelig! And thank you Marzue for beta-reading this first monster chapter! <3  
> (and thank you CK for the title, and the inspiration) 
> 
> Also... PLEASE read the warnings. I mean them.

_ Day -10: _

Dick was sorting through the files in the evidence room when his training officer opened the door. McKernel was a big and burly guy, almost as tall and wide as Bruce, with a soft smile and kind eyes. He might be one of the only clean cops in the entire precinct, Dick thought.

He’d gotten lucky when he got assigned him as his TO.

“Hey, Grayson… I heard you got shot yesterday?”

There was honest concern lacing McKernel’s voice. During yesterday’s traffic patrol, Dick had been forced to work with Smith, and when a fight with a drunk driver escalated, Dick got nicked by a bullet. It was nothing. Barely even a scratch… but, well, that was Nightwing’s answer to a bullet barely missing him, wasn’t it?

Dick Grayson, nineteen and fresh from the police academy, should probably be pretty shaken.

“It was… I am fine, McKernel. It’s just a scratch… but thank you for your concern. I’ll make sure to not get shot again anytime soon.”

Dick let shyness bleed into his voice. Not that a bit of shaking could disrupt his blinding smile. The longer McKernel’s gaze was focused on him, the more Dick’s chances grew that the older officer wouldn’t notice what Dick’s hands were doing.

Snooping.

Dick was snooping.

Dick had become a cop to piss Bruce off, and to change something. He wanted to fight against a system that hurt so many, and… in a burst of childlike naivety, Dick had thought he could clean up a structure as rotten as the Blüdhaven Police Force.

There might be a few good cops out there, but the longer Dick spent inside the system, the more he doubted that. But… if he gave up now, he would only prove Bruce right. He would play into his former guardian’s hands, and… and… it would hurt, this insult to his pride.

So, Dick decided he would play the game for a bit longer. Maybe until he had enough evidence to root out at least the worst of the corruption, or maybe until they caught him, and it would no longer be his choice… for now, Dick would stay here though, would smile and be the gullible rookie.

“I sure hope so, kid. I..” McKernel’s words made Dick keen-eared. There was something vulnerable and soft in the older man’s voice.

“My own son, he was on the force as well… he died in his second year. Drug bust. A stray bullet hit him. It was… I don’t want to lose another kid, Grayson, so look out for yourself.”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

“Yeah, sure… um, sorry. No, I’ll make sure it never happens again. Sorry…. I…”

It made sense. McKernel was always cautious when the two of them patrolled together, never letting Dick make the first move… in retrospect, many of the older man’s actions could be explained by this.

A surge of guilt pulsed through Dick. It had never been his intention to remind McKernel of his dead son. It wasn’t… Well, there was little he could do now, besides looking out for himself while they were on patrol together.

“It’s alright. Really, Grayson. You just remind me a lot of him… after he died, I promised myself I would never let it happen again. I would keep my next rookie safe. So… yeah.”

“I am-“

“Nah, shove it, Grayson. Just… be ready in ten. The traffic law offenders won’t wait for us.”

“Sure!”

Uneasiness bubbled in Dick’s stomach as he watched McKernel leave the room. Losing a son… that sounded horrible. Dick wouldn’t wish that on the worst of them. God, he wouldn’t even wish that on Bruce.

_ Day -7: _

Dick hated using the showers in the locker room, but after being bathed in three different kinds of soda, not even he could justify driving to his apartment first before cleaning himself up.

His uniform was a sticky mess, his hair divided into strands of sugar…

The spray of the warm shower water was a welcome relief, his skin losing the tautness that had slowly set in as the sugar dried. Who would have thought an angry old lady throwing soda cans could cause so much chaos?

It was certainly one of the weirder patrols he ever had. Not even Nightwing could claim that something like this had ever happened to him.

The standard issue soap smelled of nothing, and Dick enjoyed how it slowly replaced the stank of fake cherry. His back muscles ached – he had pulled something last night – when he stretched himself, teasing the tension out of his body with gushes of hot water.

The warm water boiler in his apartment was broken, so Dick enjoyed the reprieve from ice cold showers. His constantly overworked muscles certainly agreed.

Someone entered the locker room behind him, and for a moment Dick tensed, before he allowed himself to relax again. This was a public space – which meant shared locker space, and shared showers.

It wasn’t the first time Dick was in a communal shower after all, Batman and Robin sharing one shower area after patrol, and the Titans having a communal shower as well.

Still, he hadn’t counted on hearing McKernel’s voice over the sound of rushing water:

“Holy shit, kid. Where did you get all these scars?”

_ Shit. _

Dick had forgotten to cover them up. Or, well, it was pretty much impossible to cover them while he was showering… and he had a lot of scars. Not as many as Bruce, but more than any civilian had any right to have.

There still was the fresh bullet wound scar on his shoulder, the skin still pink two years after the incident. There was the slash down his side, the operation scars on his chest and knee after Harvey was done with him, the chemical burns and cuts that made his arms look spotty after one too many encounters with Scarecrow, Joker and the lot.

“Um…”

“These look… Kid, these look dangerous! Are you… everything alright?”

Fuck.

Dick had to answer. He knew he had to answer, but… his mind was blank, his head empty. How could he explain how his body looked? The muscle mass was easy enough – he was a workaholic and enjoyed workouts… but the scars and discolorations?

Dick was very aware of how flimsy his excuse sounded when he finally answered:

“I had an interesting childhood.”

“Grayson…”

“And now I’d like to finish showering, if that’s alright.”

This would come back to haunt him. Dick was sure of it. And how could it not? Even if McKernel bought Dick’s excuse, he would look into Dick’s past and find Bruce. Find the expired guardianship and the gossip rags tearing Bruce apart.

This was not… yeah, the two of them hadn’t spoken in almost fourteen months, and yes, Dick was pissed at Bruce and the fact that he had another orphan boy ready to be adopted… and okay, maybe Dick tended to lose his cool whenever Bruce was brought up…

But none of these things would ever amount to Dick demanding Bruce to be publicly shamed. An accusation of child abuse was something not even Bruce Wayne could escape unscathed.

McKernel had already left the locker room by the time, Dick managed to push a startled “Wait!” past his lips. He would have to wait a few days until he could explain himself to McKernel… Dick only hoped it wouldn’t be too late by then.

_ Day 0: _

McKernel was the one who got the call about a drug bust on the edge of Blüdhaven. The officers on-site needed back-up. It wasn’t a call they would usually answer, and Dick could see how nervous McKernel was on the drive over.

“Don’t worry. I won’t even enter the building. I promise. No danger of me getting shot.”

His words seemed to do little when it came to soothing the older man, but Dick could understand. He would also be overly protective if one of his friends demanded to do the stunt that had ended in his parents’ death.

Certain traumas just stayed with you – and it wasn’t as if McKernel acted like Bruce. The man didn’t forbid Dick from doing his job nor did he “fire” him. McKernel was simply a concerned man, who wanted to keep his rookie from dying.

And that was okay.

The car was silent for the rest of the ride over, the sun breaking through the heavy clouds usually decorating the Blüdhaven sky. It was an unusually pretty day, and Dick tried to enjoy the warm feeling on his face as they passed factory after factory, venturing deeper into the outskirts of the city.

_ Nobody could hear you scream for help out here _ .

It was a dark thought for such a sunny day, and Dick pushed it away with a shudder.

When they finally parked the car, the building in front of them looked empty. Dick couldn’t spot any squad cars. Foreboding seeped into his mind, the dark thought he had earlier suddenly not so bizarre anymore.

It smelled like concrete, grass and dust when he left the car, his hand never leaving the gun strapped to his hips. He scanned the building in front of him, but his first impression had been right: There was no one here.

Just a broken-down house, two stories tall with sealed windows and doors, painted with chipped white paint and left out here to be forgotten.

Dick’s voice was strained when he turned to look at his partner, who had also left the car:

“What’s the meaning of this, McKernel? Why are we here?”

“You were snooping. Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

_ Fuck _ .

So much for McKernel being one of the few honest cops. Fuck. Shit. Dick’s pulse skyrocketed, sweat collecting underneath his armpits and in the palms of his hands. He would get out of this. He was Dick Grayson. Nightwing.

He would… he could fight. And defend himself. He could get out of this situation without losing his life.

“Is this my execution then? That’s why you drove me out here?”

“No… No, I meant what I said. I won’t let another kid die. Told the others just that when they demanded your head. I won’t let another kid die.”

For some reason that did little to calm Dick down.

“What… What are you going to do then?”

Dick had no illusions regarding his fate. There was no way he would get out of this one unharmed. Even if he fought, even if he won… something would change. Damn it! Bruce would be so disappointed in him if he knew…

“I will protect you. I will keep you safe. Far away from all the dangerous things you want to stick your curious nose into.”

McKernel sounded almost sad as he said it, yet he didn’t stop speaking. He was a brick wall, as he moved around the car. Dick weighed his options. He could try to run, but that would put him in the path of a bullet. The moment Dick turned around McKernel would pull his gun. He could fight – but McKernel was a mountain of a man, and Dick was Dick, not Nightwing.

He… his time was running out, McKernel coming closer and closer.

Dick turned towards the car, pulling himself onto the roof in an effort to put more distance between them, just as McKernel rounded the hood. Dick was sliding down the other side of the car, the metal hot to the touch, the sun a bright nuisance in his eyes.

Maybe it was the sun’s fault that Dick made a mistake. Or maybe he was just tired, and shocked, and unbalanced from the betrayal of his training officer.

In the end it didn’t matter. Dick slid down from the roof and stumbled, his leg catching on the door handle. His palms hit dirt, and before he was able to stand again, McKernel was in front of him.

A shadow fell on Dick, the air turning thick and syrupy. Dick’s voice was barely a whisper when he said:

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t…”

“This is the only way to protect you.”

McKernel held something in his hand, but Dick couldn’t see it. Not with the darkness McKernel brought. Not with the sun glaring from behind.

But he could feel it. A prick, some pain, and then a spreading numbness from his neck down.

“You drugged me?” Dick was already slurring his words by the time he managed to push them past his lips. The smell of sweat and dust was strong in his nose, the heat suffocating him. Or maybe that was the drugs.

Dick didn’t know – what he knew however, was the darkness slowly crawling through his veins. An abyss opened behind his eyes… swallowing him.

Dick lost his fight, he fell forward, unconsciousness pulling him down, down, down. McKernel caught him, not that Dick could tell.

_ Day 1 _ :

Dick woke up in a basement. Not that the room looked much like your typical basement, with the colorful rug and the comfy twin bed. But Dick was working with context clues:

There were no windows in the small room, and a series of pipes ran along the ceiling. There was one locked door, and underneath the rug, the floor was raw cement. There was a faint damp smell, something Dick associated with basements ever since he followed Alfred on his laundry day adventures.

So, Dick was in a basement.

After his training officer had drugged and kidnapped him.

His clothes had been changed while he was unconscious, his uniform long gone. He now wore soft sweatpants and a T-shirt belonging to a sports team Dick had never heard of. The room wasn’t hostile… but that did little to stifle the panic and unease bubbling in his stomach.

A room didn’t have to be hostile or openly creepy, when you had a chain around one of your ankles connecting you to one of the steel beams running down one of the walls.

It didn’t really matter that the bed was soft, the rug pretty, the shelves filled with books and comics. It didn’t matter that Dick could spy a toilet and a shower behind a privacy screen, or that the desk seemed to be outfitted with writing and drawing materials.

Dick was in a cell.

He was chained and caught and… and he was a civilian.

Nightwing would have no problem escaping from a place like this, but Dick Grayson only knew basic self-defense. Dick Grayson had no lockpick sets hidden on his person,nor did he carry a knife. No, Dick Grayson was painfully human.

And young.

What would Bruce think if he could see him now? Little Dick Grayson ran away from home, desperate to prove himself to daddy. Instead he got caught by the bad guys, stripped of his uniform… Instead, he got betrayed by a partner he thought he could trust.

The shame and humiliation burned like hot coals inside Dick’s chest.

He had trusted McKernel.

He had trusted his partner to at least have his back. To not betray him. He had…. He had liked the man. Dick wasn’t dumb – he had noticed the similarities between Bruce and McKernel, the way the both of them liked to protect. They were both big and strong and… Dick had enjoyed the feeling of someone powerful watching over him. Someone strong enough to protect him…

Nightwing might no longer need Batman, but that didn’t mean Dick didn’t miss the feeling of having backup.

Well, staring at the posters decorating the wall, Dick knew he had no backup now.

The cuff around his leg seemed secure, his nails harmlessly scratching over metal. The chain was long enough to – yep, Dick could reach the ‘bathroom’ and the desk and the shelves… but he couldn’t reach the door.

Probably a good idea. Dick wasn’t sure what he would do to McKernel should the man enter the room right now. Dick’s fear had always been quick to turn into anger – and this was a situation that was preprogrammed to make him lose it.

_ Fuck. _

He was screwed.

Dick’s fist hit the wall with a silent thump.

_ Day 2: _

Sleep was pulling at his eyelids, but Dick stayed resistant.

He couldn’t allow himself to sleep. Sleep meant unconsciousness. It meant being unaware. And there was nothing worse than being caught unaware in enemy territory.

McKernel hadn’t shown his face yet, and Dick was growing uneasy.

His stomach was grumbling and groaning in hunger, his gut cramping whenever he thought about food. The only reason his throat wasn’t as parched, was the faucet in the bathroom area. When he was forced to use it, Dick found a cup, a toothbrush and some toothpaste, all of them kiddy-safe.

It was as if McKernel had thought of everything.

Dick hated him.

He hated him, when he wasn’t busy being deadly afraid. What would happen next? Would Bruce come looking for him? Would his dad – no, his former guardian even care? Or would Dick die in this hole in the ground, far away from all the people he loved? His friends? His fellow heroes?

It hurt to think too much about any of this, but with the exhaustion holding his body hostage, there was little else he could do. Not even exercise was really an option to keep his thoughts occupied, since he was too hungry to force his body through a series of sit-ups. And the chain around his leg made most exercises impossible anyway…

His fingers dug into the soft fabric of his pants, in an effort to keep awake.

He would be vulnerable should he fall asleep. He would be easy prey should he close his eyes.

His eyes found the posters decorating the wall, Greenday and Pink Floyd returning band names. Did they belong to McKernel? Or had they been his son’s?

They definitely were nothing Dick would hang up in his apartment, the texts these bands liked to sing were too dark and depressing after a night of kicking assholes in the balls. They reminded him of Jason though.

Dick had only met the new kid twice, both times when Bruce was out of the house, and Alfred called him over. Jason was… a firecracker. If their circumstances were different, Dick could see himself come to like the kid. Hell, they had met twice! And Dick was already contemplating if Jason would like the revolutionary spirit of the bands decorating his prison cell!

Dick just… he just really hoped he would get a chance to ask Jason himself.

The door leading into the room opened. Dick snapped his head around so fast the room was spinning, only to see the last remnants of darkness on the other side of the door vanish before it fell close. A dark hallway maybe? Another basement?

That wasn’t important now. No. Important was that fucking McKernel stood in front of Dick. The man had something in his hands, a divine smell coming from the brown paper bag. Food. His big, open face emitted regret – and Dick wanted to barf.

How dare McKernel be sorry. How dare McKernel feel bad.

He had locked Dick inside a basement! He had chained him! He had left him here to starve! He had- He had betrayed his trust!

“What the hell do you want? You better let me the fuck out of here, or you can piss off again!”

Dick was angry. And scared.

But mostly angry.

McKernel didn’t seem to care. He looked truly apologetic when he sat the paper bag down on the desk to Dick’s right and said:

“Sorry. I understand that you are mad. But this… this was the only way to keep you safe. I hadn’t… I hadn’t planned on staying away for so long, but the processing of your case has taken longer than anticipated. Sorry, again.”

Dick wanted to scream. He wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up. He wanted to jump him and tear his eyes out, but…

“My case?”

“Yes. You are now officially dead, died during a car chase in Blüdhaven downtown. Your car exploded. Your body is unidentifiable, but we have eyewitnesses, your police badge, your car, your phone, and some of your hair. It is enough to… it is enough to declare you dead.”

“Wha…?”

Dick wasn’t processing.

_ Fuck. _

He was… this was bad. This was horrible. This was worse than everything Dick could have imagined. Bruce thought he was dead. His friends thought he was dead. Everyone thought he was dead.

_ Fuck _ .

“Why would you do this? Why the ever-loving fuck would you do this?”

McKernel sighed as if Dick had just asked a dumb question and not a completely valid one, but he answered nevertheless:

“Because I won’t let you be harmed. I- I can’t watch my colleagues kill you, and I can’t watch this job do it either. The outside world is dangerous. Too dangerous for a kid like you. I am keeping you safe. I know right now that’s hard for you to understand, but believe me, with time you’ll see.”

“The hell I will.”

Dick pulled his legs closer to his chest, his back leaning against the headboard of the bed. He was making himself smaller. He had no chance against McKernel like this. The man was bigger than him, and had the environmental advantage that he wasn’t chained to a steel beam. Plus, Dick’s stomach was growling from the smell of food.

It was better if he waited.

A chance to escape would come, and Dick would take it. Until then… Dick would cower if it was necessary. He would cower and wait for his moment.

(or maybe he was simply scared).

“I know, you are not my biggest fan right now, Dick. But… try to eat, okay I’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe we can talk some more then.”

With that McKernel left, the hallway in front of Dick’s room still a mystery. If Dick wanted to escape, he needed to find out what was on the other side of that door…

Until then… Dick unfurled from his position on the bed, his legs carrying him over to the divine smelling bag. It was fast food, greasy and disgusting. Alfred would never allow something like this in the Manor…

It was the most delicious thing Dick had ever eaten.

_ Day 6: _

Dick had chosen silence as his weapon against McKernel.

He wasn’t sure if it was working.

The man came once or twice each day, bags of food in his arms, to check on Dick. It was hard to tell the passing of time without a window to watch the sun move across the sky, but Bruce had trained an impeccable internal clock into Robin. The faint sound of church bells in the distance signaling the passage of time, definitely helped. McKernel wasn’t shy when it came to telling Dick about the outside world.

He wasn’t allowed to listen to a radio, or watch TV, but sometimes McKernel brought newspapers with him.

Dick never reached for them while McKernel was still in the room. No, he was a silent ball of rage while the older man fussed and cooed and blabbered. McKernel was never cruel. He brought Dick food, media, and company… but Dick’s head knew what McKernel was doing. And his heart was too broken over the betrayal to walk into that particular trap just yet.

Dick had been trained to withstand even the cruelest of tortures, and he wouldn’t simply develop Stockholm Syndrome because he was locked in a fancy basement for a week.

It would take some more time for Dick to finally break.

The newspaper McKernel brought him on his sixth day, however, almost succeeded.

“Bruce Wayne Heartbroken Over The Death Of His First Ward,” the headline read, and Dick could feel himself grow still as he stared at the picture of Bruce.

He hadn’t seen his former guardian in fourteen months, hadn’t talked to him in just that long… but they still knew each other. Dick could see… he could see that the tear tracks on Bruce’s cheeks were real, that the sorrow in the hunch of his shoulders was monumental… that the pain in the corner of Alfred’s mouth – the man standing in the background of the picture – was just as strong.

Bruce had… Bruce had believed them, when he was told that Dick had died.

His guardian thought him to be dead. Batman believed him to be dead.

What Dick had feared when McKernel told him of his faked death, had actually happened: McKernel had unwittingly, successfully tricked Batman. Nobody would come for Dick. Nobody would save him.

When the tears started to run down his cheeks, Dick made sure to hide his face in the pillow, his back turned towards the room. He was sure there were cameras somewhere in here, even if Dick hadn’t found them yet… either way he didn’t want McKernel to see him cry.

_ Day 10: _

“Okay, I think, the settling-in period is over, so I want to go over a few rules with you, Dick. Is that okay?”

Dick only stared at McKernel. The man was sitting on the chair that completed the desk standing in his cell. Just as usual, Dick was curled up on the bed, stubbornness keeping him quiet, even as despair seeped deeper and deeper into his bones.

Ten days. He had been gone for ten days now.

When would Bruce start to move on? When would Bruce start to forget him?

“I am talking to you, Dick. And from now on… I want you to answer. So, is that okay, Dick?”

Dick forced himself to nod. He would gain nothing should he make his jailor mad. He didn’t know McKernel to be a violent person, but then again, Dick had thought him to be a decent cop as well. But as it turned out, McKernel was just as dirty as the rest of them.

Only now Dick was the one paying the price.

He didn’t want to find out what a mad McKernel looked like. Not while he was unable to defend himself. Not while he was scared and defenseless and out of his depth.

“Thank you. So, a few things first up: You can call me Daniel or Danny. Sir is also an option. But none of this McKernel bullshit. You are safe here, and this is not the force – first names are perfectly adequate.”

As if Dick would ever call this asshole by his first name. It was hard to keep a sneer from his face, but Dick had always been a wonderful actor, and his abilities didn’t forsake him now. His face remained blank, his muscles tense.

“I do not expect you to get used to this whole situation right away, but I want you to remember that this is for your own good. You have nothing to worry about – and if you ask nicely and behave, I can bring you books or comics you want. Later, we can watch movies together, maybe.”

“You are doing this because you lost your son, right?”

Dick’s voice was rough from disuse, but it still carried some of his typical pride. Maybe this was the angle he had to play. Maybe he had to pray that McKernel still had some sense of compassion left. That not all was lost just yet.

“Yes, at least partially. You remind me a lot of him. Idealistic. Independent. I should have looked after him more… I should have protected him, just as I am protecting you now.”

“Then why… Why do this to my dad? Bruce is now suffering just as you once did… why are you doing this to another father?”

Dick felt dirty for using Bruce’s name like this. They hadn’t spoken in so long… it would be wrong to call him his dad. But at the same time… following John Grayson, Bruce was the closest Dick had ever come to a father. And it would be cruel to deny himself the comfort of having been Bruce’s family once upon a time in a situation as dire as his.

Still, Dick hadn’t expected McKernel to laugh. His entire body flinched back, as the loud noise echoed through the basement, McKernel’s body shaking from the strength of his amusement.

“Kid, I have seen your scars. Something fishy was going on with Wayne, and you don’t have to tell me… but don’t worry, he’ll never touch you again.”

“That’s not-“

“Sssh! As happy as I am about your newfound voice… let me finish: you can earn certain privileges over time, with good behavior and politeness. Books, comics, art materials of your choice. And, once you’ve accepted that you are safe down here, I will unlock the chain. I promise. The stuff currently in the room is already for you to use, of course. Maybe… After enough time has passed, you can even come upstairs with me for a bit. But for that to happen…”

Dick didn’t want to listen. He wanted to curl up and cry. Or do sit-ups. Or shadow box. Heck, he would even enjoy a good math exercise sheet right about now… everything just so he could stop listening to McKernel and his sick fantasy of a locked-up Dick Grayson.

“I need you to listen to me. Talk to me. Answer me. Be polite and nice. And I promise you, we will get along just wonderful.”

Dick didn’t grace McKernel with an answer. Instead, he hid his face in his legs, letting his body say what his mouth wanted to spew:  _ fuck off! Go away! Leave me alone! _

McKernel answered with a sigh. Dick could hear a chair being pushed back, and before he knew it, a hand was touching his hair. Petting him.

“I know it’s a lot. Take care of yourself. I’m gonna be back in a few hours with your dinner. Maybe we can eat together.”

_ Day 14: _

Dick had found a loose screw on the chain connecting him to the steel beam. He was curled up in bed, pretending to re-read Harry Potter, his left-hand fiddling with the rusty piece of metal under the blankets.

He had found at least one possible camera, directly above the door where he couldn’t reach it, and ever since then the bed had become his sanctuary. Turning his back to the door ensured that McKernel – probably – couldn’t see his hands and face.

One of his nails broke, and Dick tried his best not to let the pain show on his face.

He would have to make sure McKernel didn’t notice the blood on his hands.

But… but this was hope.

This was the first good thing to happen to him. A sliver of possibility… if he managed to get the chain loose, he would get to the door. And once he had achieved that, he would get to the dark hallway after which… after which there would be freedom.

The sky. The sun. The moon.

God, Dick missed the sky. He missed flying, and grappling, and flipping.

He missed being Nightwing. Heck, he missed being Dick Grayson, volunteer teacher at the public gym.

He allowed himself a short break, some deep breaths, and then he continued fiddling. He had to get the screw loose. He had to reach freedom. He had to save himself.

_ Day 17: _

“Are you enjoying the cake? It’s your favorite!”

“Hn…”

Dick’s fork senselessly destroyed the Black Forest Cake McKernel had gotten for him from the bakery. Yes, it was truly his favorite, something the older man only knew because they had been partners once upon a time. But that wasn’t enough for his unsettled stomach.

He couldn’t trust anything McKernel did for him. There was always an ulterior motive. It was always an attempt to make Dick more pliable.

Sometimes Dick feared it was starting to work, and then he thought of his bleeding fingertips and the chain that was slowly becoming detached. No, Dick wasn’t losing it just yet. He was still on top of his game.

And he would escape this.

He would escape his confinement and he would reclaim the sky.

_ Day 23: _

The chain fell apart in his hands.

It had taken longer than anticipated, three of his fingers bloody and aching from the continuous strain. But he had done it. He had freed himself!

Relief washed over him, as he stepped away from the steel beam for the first time without extra weight pulling him down. Two or three chain links were still attached to the cuff around his ankle, but after three weeks of being cooped up, the missing weight allowed him to float.

Dick hadn’t even noticed how much the chain weighed him down, how it changed his gait and his walk, but now that it was gone… he felt a lot more like himself.

It was late evening, McKernel leaving three or four hours ago, and Dick knew he had to hurry. The man had cameras in Dick’s cell – one of which Dick knew about – and just because nights were the safest time for him to escape, didn’t mean that there wasn’t still a big risk tied to it.

Dick ran through a series of light and quick stretches, before he turned towards the door. While it was important for his joints to be loose and his muscles warm, there was no more time to waste.

He had to…

The door was made out of simple wood, the material cheap. Dick didn’t even have to jimmy it open. It was unlocked. Unease crawled through Dick at the thought that all this time… the door had been open. It had truly just been the chain and his own fear keeping him down.

Too late. He could worry about all that later, for now… for now he had to press forward. He had to reclaim the sky.

Somewhere in the distance a church bell informed him of the hour: it was midnight.

_ Day 24: _

The hallway was dark and dusty, the light from his bedside lamp the only thing illuminating the tiny space. It only reached a couple of feet into the second basement, and after the first few steps Dick was bathed in darkness.

At first Dick couldn’t spot a staircase, and then he almost fell over it. There was wood on the floor. When Dick bent down to use his hands to see, he could feel the rough material scrap against his palms. He let them wander higher and higher, until he had a mental image of what was in front of him: a steep ladder.

Dick tried his best to remain silent as he climbed up, surprised by the lack of creaking as he did so. But then again… it made sense, didn’t it? Dick had never heard McKernel come down, he only ever noticed the man when he opened the door.

It was creepy how good the giant man was at being silent.

But then again… so was Bruce.

_ But Bruce is the Batman, _ his mind whispered. Dick pushed the thought down. So what? Bruce was Batman, and yet he hadn’t found him. And yet Dick had to save himself.

(it was unfair, Dick knew that, because Bruce thought Dick was dead… but for once in his life Dick allowed himself to be unfair).

His head connected with the floor above him, the action too soft to hurt or even make a noise. And yet Dick stopped, his ears straining for any sound at all. He heard nothing.

Eerie silence reached him through the shut trap door. Dick forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths, before pushing against the wood. The door didn’t budge.

_ Fuck. _

For a moment Dick allowed the panic to surge through his veins, allowed the desperation to make his eyes water, and his world swim… and then he pushed all these pesky emotions out of the way, focusing on the problem at hand:

He was in a dark hallway/basement, where he had been kept prisoner for over three weeks, and now, after he had broken through the chain… he would also have to break through a trapdoor. He could do it.

He had to do it. Giving up now was not an option. Giving up had never been an option.

Dick pushed against the door with his shoulder, no longer caring about silence at all. He wanted to escape! And if someone heard him…? So be it! He was desperate enough to fight! Maybe it had been a mistake to protect his secret identity! Maybe Dick should have fought from the very beginning…

It had unbalanced him, when he got kidnapped as Dick Grayson. It had thrown him off his game, when it was his very own partner – whom he had trusted! – who betrayed him.

What place did Nightwing have in the world of Dick Grayson?

He was about to find out.

His shoulder smarted from the pressure Dick put it under, but he pressed forward. Or… upward in this case. The wood creaked and moaned, and – when Dick jumped against the door with all his might – it finally opened a few inches.

It was easy after that, but Dick could feel himself lose precious minutes.

Every second spent on trying to escape made it more likely that McKernel would notice… that McKernel would come after him. And Dick… as much as he was ready to fight, he would rather not. Some part of him was afraid of facing off against his former partner. It wasn’t McKernel’s bulk that scared him, it was their shared history.

Dick had never been good at beating Bruce either. More often than not it had been his guardian who managed to hurt Dick in a battle of wills, in a slaughter of words.

Dick feared that McKernal might hold a similar power over his heart. He couldn’t be sure, and he really hoped not… but it was better if Dick was never forced to find out.

The trap door opened wider and wider, until Dick could contort his body through the gap. Once outside, moonlight bathed the room he was in. It was an empty and dusty house, from what Dick could see, but the windows were unbarred and big, allowing the light to flood in.

Now that he was out of the basement, he could see what had weighed the trap door shut: A heavy crest, like the ones that had decorated Wayne Manor before Alfred put his foot down and renovated the upper floors.

Dick’s detective brain wanted to linger, wanted to search for clues and evidence, but his heart told him to run. The further away he got, the better his chances were.

He couldn’t let himself get caught again. He had to escape.  _ He had to do it _ .

Dick passed through another room before he reached the hallway on the first floor, leading straight to the entrance door. Normally, he would search for another exit, but Dick was pressed for time. And desperate.

He needed to get out of this house.

He needed to see the sky.

The front door was locked, but Dick found the key on a table next to an umbrella rack. McKernel had obviously never thought Dick would get this far…

It was easy after that.

He was in a good part of Blüdhaven when he stepped out onto the street, the sky above him cloudy but not depressingly grey. Every now and then the moon would peak through and illuminate the old late-Victorian buildings and their geranium clad window sills.

Dick knew this neighborhood. It was West City Hill, a part of the city Nightwing only rarely ventured into… mostly because crime was more easily committed in parts of Blüdhaven where the police didn’t show up. Or where only the correct handful of people were rich enough to pay the dirty cops to look the other way.

Why would McKernel keep him here?

This was a question for another day. After Dick managed to successfully escape. After he managed to return home. After… after he saw Bruce and Alfred and even Jason again.

There was no pay phone in sight, and of course, Dick had no cell phone on him… he started to jog in the direction of Downtown. Maybe down there he would find a cab driver or a prostitute who still owed Nightwing or even Dick Grayson a favor.

He had been running for two hours now, avoiding main streets and dirty alleyways alike. His energy was running low… he hadn’t exercised in three weeks, his body was no longer used to the extreme stress Dick regularly put it under.

His lungs were burning, his chest heaving, and his legs were stiff from the strain… and yet, Dick hadn’t reached Downtown yet. Sometimes it was easy to forget how big Blüdhaven was, maybe because it felt so little compared to Gotham. But West City Hill was miles away from the heart of the city, and without the big streets it took even longer to traverse that distance.

Plus… Dick couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

It made his skin crawl, and his heartbeat accelerate… Dick sent another look down the alley he was currently standing in, but he couldn’t see anything or anyone. It was frighteningly empty in these parts. Dick was used to the bustling of the docks or the red-light district, but even now, closer to downtown, the streets stayed empty. He had seen a few people walk their dogs, one or two possible drug deals… but compared to the Blüdhaven Dick was used to… this was nothing.

His steps faltered when he continued his journey. He had just- Was that a scream? Dick listened, and yes, there was the sound again. It was definitely a scream!

Before he could make a conscious choice, Dick had changed his course, running into the direction of the sound. It didn’t take long for him to reach the crime scene, the alley only a few short yards behind the small street Dick had just walked down.

It was dark and dingy, and at first Dick couldn’t understand what he was seeing: four big and burly men, and no victim in sight. For a shocked moment Dick did nothing, confusion and exhaustion making him slow, and then the biggest of the guys moved.

Fuck, the guy was fast.

Dick couldn’t duck or twist quick enough. The fist hit him square in the stomach, expelling air from his lungs. His eyes watered from the force of the hit, his knees quivering. But Dick didn’t fall. Instead, he grabbed the arm of his attacker and flung him over his shoulder. The move was unnecessarily showy, but in a moment of panic, Dick was unable to think of anything else.

Luckily, the first guy stayed down, Dick’s rather inelegant maneuver crushing his head. Unluckily… the other three guys weren’t nice enough to attack him one after the other. No, they attacked all at once. And from the looks of it: they knew how to fight together.

“Hey! Hey! Calm down! We don’t have to fight! Hey! Please!”

Dick tried to deescalate, to evade and duck and twist away before their fists and kicks could hit him, but his voice got drowned out by violence, and soon he, too, was lost in this sea of aggression, knowing that he couldn’t win. 

It would take only one hit, and Dick would go down, no uniform to protect him, no attack plan to get him out of this situation. His eyes were desperately searching for an escape route, but some part of him… he already knew it was too late.

An elbow connected forcefully with the side of Dick’s head, just as he was about to twist out of the way of a high-kick, and stars exploded behind his closed eyes. The world lurched, tumbled, twisted--- and Dick fell onto the ground, gravel scratching his palms and cheeks.

The smell of old trash and rotten food didn’t help the nausea crashing over him. Before he knew it, Dick was retching, sick spilling over his lips. He had a concussion, the pain behind his eyes promised him as much.

But his attackers weren’t done with him just yet. Rough hands grabbed him from behind, pressing him down into the dirt. The T-shirt and pants McKernel had given him did little to protect him from the cold and harsh floor. Dick couldn’t help himself… a whimper escaped him.

It was too much.

He had craved the sky, the city, the world so much… and yet he hadn’t even managed to successfully escape. Instead, four random assholes had managed to beat him bloody.  _ Fuck _ . Dick wanted to cry.

He didn’t.

“Let me go! Fuck off! Let me go! Don’t you know? I am an officer of the law! If you let me go, I can put in a good word for you!”

Dick switched between pleading and bargaining and cursing, but his words had little effect. His captors were talking between themselves, and Dick couldn’t understand what they were saying. Blood was thumping too loudly in his ears, his heartbeat fast and painful in his chest. It was hard to concentrate – the fear and the swaying ground certainly didn’t help.

But he didn’t have to understand them… the hands wandering over his body were evidence enough.

Dick upped his efforts to escape, he writhed on the floor, he screamed, he yelled, he cried. The skin on his hands was tearing because of his attempts to crawl away, horror clogging his throat, terror making the world spin and spin and spin. It was…  _ useless _ .

The bodies above him didn’t budge, they only used more force while pressing him down. It was hard to understand their words through the ringing in Dick’s ears, but he tried and… he really wished he had stayed oblivious.

Confusion was better than this. Sometimes knowing was a curse.

“God, such a pretty boy. When the boss told us to keep an eye out… look at that ass, man!”

“Hell yeah! And in this position? He is ready for a good pounding, ain’t he?”

“Gotta enjoy myself tonight!”

And then the men laughed.

Tears escaped his closed eyes, keeping them open too much of a burden in the face of this horror. Fuck. He was fucked. Quite literally, if nothing happened. Dick tried to buckle, to throw the biggest of the man sitting on his hips off, but he only succeeded in making them enjoy his misery.

His limbs were useless. His body too weak… Dick didn’t want to get raped. He… he could still feel Mirage’s touches even after a year, and he could still watch as his life got destroyed over a mistake he made (but couldn’t have known about). He didn’t…

His breathing grew erratic, the laughing voices distant and yet too loud. No.  _ Nononononono _ … Dick needed to throw up, but even twisting his head was too much effort. Instead, he let the stomach acid dribble from his lips, the taste disgusting in his mouth.

Fuck.

No.

_ He couldn’t _ .

There were hands on him, but Dick didn’t want to get touched. He needed… he needed to get away. He had to… he couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move? Fuck. No. He had to- He had to get away! There were people touching him!

Why was the world so dark? Had it always been so dark?

It smelled bad, Dick was… confused? Panicked? Horrified?

It was hard to draw in a breath, with his chest crushing him, and his heart escaping through his throat. His lungs were begging him to stop hyperventilating… but it was so dark. And someone was touching his ass.

Dick was crying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Hands settled on the waistband of his pants, peeling them back, when a new sensation filtered through Dick’s panicked mind. Yelling. Someone was yelling.

Dick knew the voice, but he was too scared to look.

Was it Bruce? It was certainly deep enough.

But then… gun fire. Shots. Pained screaming. The hands were falling away from Dick.

So… not Bruce then. Who…? The name was on the tip of Dick’s tongue, but his brain was struggling to stay conscious at all. It hurt. Everything hurt. His heart most of all. The panic wouldn’t budge, its claws too deep in the soft core of Dick’s self.

He flinched when fingers lightly touched his cheek, a soft whimper escaping him. Dick couldn’t remember when he had last felt this weak, this useless… but then again, remembering things in general was kinda hard right now.

“Shhh… it’s okay, Dick. Everything will be alright. I was worried for you… running away all on your own. But don’t worry… we’ll get back to your room, and then you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure something like this never happens to you, ever again.”

McKernel.

Dick lost his fight against the darkness claiming the corners of his vision before he could figure out if the older man’s presence soothed his anxiety – or made it worse.


	2. The World Is Not Made For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> After three weeks of waiting, I am back!!  
> And I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!   
> Special Thanks to Gem for beta-reading! And I hope you like it Aelig!!! <3

_ Day 25: _

Dick woke up to pain. And a ceiling that was uncomfortably familiar by now.

He was back in the basement. He was back in the bed he had been so desperate to escape, back to being chained to a steel beam in the corner of his room.

Which meant… he had  _ failed _ . His escape attempt hadn’t been successful. No, it had been rather painful if the aches in his palms and knees and chest were anything to go by. His head throbbed in tandem with his heartbeat – it was uncomfortable, to say the least.

But why…?

Dick barely had a moment to process before the memories hit him, a sledgehammer of trauma crashing down on him. The… alleyway. The attempted rape. The panic.

God, the panic. The fear. The helplessness.

Dick was detached from his body as he felt his heartbeat accelerate, as he felt his lungs struggle to continue to breathe. His mind was racing… what had happened? How had McKernel found him? Why McKernel?  _ Why always him? _

But before Dick could find an answer to any of these questions, a cool hand pressed down on his forehead. Dick opened his eyes – he hadn’t even noticed that he had closed them in his panic – only to stare in McKernel’s concerned face.

He flinched back.

“One deep breath, boy. You can do it. Just breathe with me… one. Two. Three… and now let that breath go again… one. Two. Three… you are doing great.”

No. Dick was not doing great. He was panicking and crying and – worst of all –  _ McKernel’s _ calming voice did actually help. His heart slowed, and his breathing eased… and yet the guilt and horror in his chest stayed.

“There you go. Now, can you look at me?”

Could he?

Dick forced his eyes away from the poster he had been staring at during his little freak-out. McKernel looked… relieved when he saw Dick was returning his gaze, and the man smiled when Dick didn’t immediately close his eyes again.

“Thank you! Now, I don’t want to scare you, and I think your recovery should be of the utmost importance. But at some point, we will have to talk about the punishment you deserve for running away. Not today. But I want you to remember this, okay? Because this is what happens to little boys who run away.”

Dick wanted to laugh. Or maybe he wanted to spit in McKernel’s face. But the man had to be delusional if he thought this was enough to keep Dick down. To make him pliant and weak and… and  _ malleable _ .

No, this was just… a rough patch. Something Dick would forget soon enough.

His throat was parched and rough, so Dick didn’t offer an answer, but his eyes must have been loud enough because McKernel was still smiling when he continued to speak:

“Don’t worry. You’re safe now. You will always be safe here. But you understand now why I do what I do, right? It is the only way to ensure something horrible like this won’t happen to someone as wonderful as you.”

Dick didn’t answer. Instead, he closed his eyes and turned his body away from the room. He didn’t want to face the world anymore - he didn’t want to face McKernel. 

Dick pretended to be asleep.

Soon enough the panic would subside, making the pain and fear go away. It wouldn’t be long before Dick could plan another escape. Before Dick would see the sky again.

He already missed it. The weightlessness of flying, the sensation of falling. Dick wanted to reach for the sky, to touch the clouds… he just had to wait a bit longer.

_ Day 31 _ :

The further along his recovery Dick got, the worse his nightmares got.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that alleyway, back on the ground, foreign hands roaming his body. More than once, Dick woke up screaming. It was McKernel’s voice whispering in his ears, telling him that he was safe now, that pulled him out of the bad dreams into a somehow worse reality.

McKernel hadn’t yet told Dick what his punishment would be. Instead, the man constantly told Dick to focus on his recovery, as if a light concussion, some bruised ribs, and scratches on his palms, knees and cheeks were anything worth noticing.

If Dick were still Nightwing, he would have gone back out crimefighting days ago. But as it was, McKernel chided him when Dick tried to leave his bed for anything longer than a standard bathroom break. It was infuriating. Dick could feel the walls closing in, his space shrinking and shrinking in the face of the always alert McKernel.

Privacy was a thing of the past, diminishing as McKernel continued to hover.

He missed it.

Just as much as he missed the sky.

Dick almost hadn’t noticed that it was the anniversary of his kidnapping. One month. He had been gone for exactly one month. The thought came to him while he brushed his teeth, his reflection showcasing just how tired and exhausted he was. He looked younger than Dick could ever remember being.

The bruises on his face made his cheekbones look more pronounced, and his eyes were sunken and big, dark shadows visible underneath his once so lively blues. But that wasn’t what had clued him in… no, looking at himself in the mirror, Dick noticed how much muscle-mass he had lost.

He looked almost frail without the lean muscles Dick had worked his entire life to keep. He didn’t look like himself.

It had been a month since Nightwing last flew. Since Dick last exercised. Since Dick felt like himself.

The nightmares were almost welcome when Dick crawled back into bed. At least the dreams would keep him from thinking, at least the dreams would keep the knowledge at bay: Nightwing no longer existed. He had been buried together with Dick’s fake body.

_ Day 33 _ :

McKernel’s punishment included two things, even if the man only framed one of them as such. Dick was no longer allowed to read the newspaper, since apparently that “upset” him and “gave him ideas”. McKernel’s words, not his.

Dick had no problem with that. It was easy enough to keep track of the days spent in captivity even without the paper, the faint sound of the church bells ringing in the distance an assurance that the outside world still existed, that time still passed.

It was the second thing that caused Dick immeasurable anxiety. McKernel wanted him to take “medicine”. The man claimed it was for Dick’s nightmares, for his panic attacks, but Dick wasn’t an idiot.

(McKernel said they were hydroxyzine – an over the counter anti-anxiety medication. Dick didn’t believe him)

Something more sinister was the reasoning behind those pills. If he could just figure out what… but, _ no _ , Dick was powerless in this game McKernel played. He was just Dick Grayson, nineteen years old, betrayed by his former partner…  _ again. _

And yet… Dick tried. He turned his nose up at the mention of those pills, no matter how much McKernel begged and pleaded with him. It didn’t matter that it was getting harder and harder to get any sleep at night, it didn’t matter that Dick started to hyperventilate the moment his thoughts strayed in the direction of the alley.

He wouldn’t take those pills.

In the end, McKernel won.

He always won.

He wrestled Dick onto the bed, closed his nose, and forced him to swallow the anti-anxiety medication dry. McKernel cried as he did so, begging Dick to forgive him. Not that Dick cared… the act of being pushed down onto his bed had activated his fight or flight response, only that his body could do neither.

So, instead, Dick simply froze.

He was silent and still and panicked, the world shrinking to a needlepoint while McKernel forced him to swallow.

It took a long time for him to return to the present, his head cradled against McKernel’s chest, the smell of sweat and chestnut the first thing Dick’s tired senses registered. He was… no, he wasn’t safe. His neurons must be misfiring, because Dick should never, ever associate being held by McKernel as safety. He shouldn’t.  _ He couldn’t! _

His former partner must have sensed something, because the back rubs and soothing words stopped.

“Are you back with me?”

Dick only shook his head in response. Everything was so confusing… he just wanted to be free, was that too much to ask?

“It's alright. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Dick. I won’t ever do that again. Just… Just promise me, you’ll take your medicine without struggling from now on, yeah? Please. I don’t enjoy hurting you.”

For a moment Dick contemplated saying  _ no _ . He toyed with the idea of denying McKernel the power to order Dick around… and then he remembered the fingers on his face, the hands pressing his body down.

He nodded.

It felt like losing.

_ Day 46: _

The worst thing was… the pills worked.

Dick’s anxiety got better. He slept through the night. The itching panic underneath his skin subsided. He felt… almost like himself again. Only that his wings had been clipped and the craving for wide, open spaces was so intense, Dick had caught himself crying while thinking about  _ birds _ a few days ago.

He tried to not get lost in the sense of longing that overcame him whenever he was reminded of the outside world. Before now, Dick had never stayed inside for such a long period of time. Not even when he was forced to recover from horrible injuries, had Alfred succeeded in his efforts to have Dick stay in bed for longer than a week.

Now… Dick hadn’t seen daylight in over a month.

He had never in his life been as pale as he was now, and Dick hadn’t even fought McKernel when the man started giving him vitamin supplements with each dinner. Dick didn’t want to know how bad his vitamin D deficiency was, now that there was no sun to color his skin tan.

There were advantages to the anxiety meds, however.

Dick had more energy.

He could work out. At least a bit. The chain around his ankle made anything too complicated impossible, but sit-ups were a safe way to pass time. Dick went through the bookshelves as well, searching for books on topics that interested him, art or forensics or even psychology. When he found nothing fitting his tastes, he meekly asked for it…

And the next day McKernel came back with a bag full of books, and cake to celebrate.

Dick hated the gratefulness that had bloomed in his chest, when McKernel complimented Dick’s taste in books.

He  _ hated, hated, hated _ it.

But he couldn’t linger on it. If he lingered, he would start to think, and not even the meds were strong enough to keep the trauma away, should Dick go looking for it.

He needed to escape.

He needed to escape before it was too late, before Dick would be unable to leave.

_ Day 53 _ :

Dick asked McKernel after his son during dinner, his voice careful and measured around the piece of chicken he was eating:

“What was your kid like?”

For a moment Dick didn’t think that McKernel would answer, but then the man sighed, putting down his own plate on the desk next to him. They were in the same position as always during dinner or lunch, Dick curled up on his bed, McKernel seated on the only chair in the room.

“As I said. A lot like you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he was almost frighteningly clever. He loved sudokus as a kid. What child does that? He was nine and begged me to buy him the really hard riddle books, the more numbers the better. And when he was twelve, he started listening to all these bands. Heck, some of these, I grew up with, but I never loved them the way Mike did. He wanted to change the education system singlehandedly. He was an idealist.”

Dick could hear the pain in McKernel’s voice, could hear the grief and sorrow in every word McKernel uttered. His own throat was clogging up as well, the love pouring out of McKernel almost stifling Dick.

Did Bruce talk about him like this as well? Did Bruce choke around his name? Did he talk about him in past tense and remember his temper fondly?

“Education system? I thought you said… I thought he died as a cop.”

Dick’s question seemed to barely register, and Dick was ready to ask again, when McKernel suddenly focused on him, his eyes aflame with anger and… passion?

“He did. Because while he wanted to save kids, his old man was a cop. And Mike wanted to impress me… biggest mistake of his life. Biggest mistake of mine as well. He was still a rookie, when he helped a druggie escape their abusive partner and the guy shot him. It was a routine patrol. Mike had no business helping the couple. They hadn’t called him. He had… he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Dick swallowed. It was a sad story… and yet Dick could see McKernel for what he was, for the very first time: a cop the way only Blüdhaven made them. Beaten down, abrasive, full of disregard for the human condition.

“And your wife?”

“She couldn’t cope with the loss. Left me, the city, the state. But I? I swore that I would never let something like that happen again… and then you waltzed into the precinct, full of idealistic ideas and goodwill.”

This time Dick didn’t answer. He simply continued to eat his chicken, and when McKernel handed him his meds, Dick swallowed the pills without struggling. He hadn’t fought McKernel on this in days.

He missed the sky. Dick missed it so much, he knew he had to escape. His talk with McKernel had revealed nothing – but if this angle didn’t work, Dick would find another one.

He would.  _ He had to _ .

_ Day 57: _

Dick hadn’t talked to another human being besides McKernel in almost two months.

Was this what losing your mind felt like?

To know you were being manipulated and yet unable to stop it?

Dick hated it. He hated it so much.

_ Day 61: _

McKernel celebrated Dick’s two-month anniversary in the basement with cake and a movie he had downloaded on his phone.

For a futile moment Dick played with the idea of stealing McKernel’s phone and calling the police or Bruce or anyone, and then he noticed the no service sign in the top corner of the screen. Even if Dick managed to get the phone, he would still be tied to the steel beam, he would still be chained down.

It wasn’t worth the effort.

Dick wouldn’t succeed and in the end, he would just get punished, which would make his skin itch and McKernel happy, because Dick was playing in his hands. No. There would be a better opportunity. A moment in which Dick wasn’t almost relaxed, in which the world wasn’t almost okay.

They were watching Fight Club.

The sound of voices neither belonging to him nor McKernel was jarring. Dick had almost forgotten what other humans sounded like. He had goosebumps when he heard the most famous line of the movie (“You don’t talk about the fight club!”). It reminded him… well, it reminded him of his own situation.

Only that it wasn’t Dick who was caught in a delusion – it was McKernel who was convinced he could protect Dick. In truth, the man was only hurting him.

Dick missed the sky. The grainy movie version just wasn’t enough, it couldn’t still the hunger burning in his chest.

_ Day 74: _

His second chance to escape came along almost two weeks later.

McKernel was standing in front of Dick with a proud smile on his face, and ease in his stance. The man seemed bigger than he had been when Dick had still been his partner – or maybe Dick simply felt smaller, after months of no exercise and training. After months on the ground,  _ no _ , underneath the ground.

“I think it’s time to get you out of these chains! You behaved so well these past few weeks… I do think we can agree that this basement is the safest place for you to be.”

His mouth fell open, surprise visible on Dick’s face. He had counted on many things. He hadn’t counted on this. Dick blinked slowly before he dared to speak, to ensure his voice wouldn’t give his excitement away:

“Okay. Okay… yes.”

“I will have to lock the basement door, just so you’re aware, but it is high-time for that ugly chain to disappear. Don’t you think?”

“Yes. Yeah. Absolutely.”

Maybe his voice sounded too flat, or too bored, but Dick couldn’t care less. His mind was wiring with the possibilities. He could… maybe he could escape. Surely there was something in this room Dick could use as a lockpick, and surely McKernel would leave him alone again soon enough.

Dick would see the sky again.

He would feel cool air touch his arms, and he would feel the wind on his face and danger in his blood.

McKernel was smiling when he kneeled down to unlock the cuff around Dick’s leg, and against his better judgement, Dick found himself smiling back.

A bit of… generosity wouldn’t hurt him. A smile wouldn’t kill.

(Dick tried to ignore the part of his mind that told him that this was Stockholm Syndrome setting in)

_ Day 75: _

Dick didn’t start with his plan the same day McKernel unlocked the cuff. That would have been idiotic – no, he waited an entire day before he went and searched for a lockpick during the night.

Nervousness made his heart beat faster, and it felt as if ants were crawling up his arms and legs while he rummaged through his desk. Dick knew that feeling. He was anxious to escape. He was ready to break free of this prison and to never see it again.

He felt so light without the chain holding him down, his feet barely touching the ground when he paced from one side of the basement to the other.

The room wasn’t large, maybe half the size of his old room at the Manor, but Dick had grown used to the distance he could cross before he had to turn around to continue his pacing. It felt so good to be able to walk freely again.

It had looked so easy when McKernel opened the cuff, but none of Dick’s earlier attempts had budged the lock when he tried to open it. Dick wasn’t dumb. Bruce had made him learn all kinds of lockpicking methods, but he had also taught him to recognize an unbreakable lock.

His cuff had had one of these – the door didn’t.

No, the door was just your normal, run of the mill door with a lock so easy to open, the paperclip Dick had found hidden between the art materials would be enough.

Now he just had to gather up his courage, count to ten, and escape.

His mind tried to torture him with images and flashes and pictures of his last escape attempt, but if Dick had learned one thing over the years he had spent beating up criminals, it was that you could never let fear rule you. If you let the fear win, it would destroy you, capture you, tear you down.

Dick was stronger than that.

He pushed forward.

The door opened easily enough, the hallway just as dark as last time. But Dick had remembered the layout, and he didn’t stumble once while he climbed up the ladder towards freedom.

The trap door didn’t budge.

Dick pressed against it, threw his shoulder against the wood, but it didn’t move.

Momentarily Dick allowed the doubt to swallow him, allowed the pain and the fear to invade his thoughts… and then he said screw it.

He was  _ so close _ .

He could almost taste the sky on the tip of his tongue; he wouldn’t stop now. Not while he was this close. He couldn’t – Nightwing was a symbol of hope, of resurgence, of power.

It was easy to forget that Dick was a hero, that he was one of the best, when his world had shrunken down to the size of a small living room, but… before any of this happened, he had been Nightwing. And Nightwing didn’t stop. Nightwing didn’t give up.

He climbed down a few steps, before Dick gathered his strength and wit, and aimed a powerful high kick against what he assumed was the weak spot of the door. Something splintered. Dick kicked again. And again. And again.

By the time he stopped, his legs hurt and he knew McKernel had heard him. Just because the man didn’t stay at the house he kept Dick in, didn’t mean he didn’t have ways to watch Dick. But fuck it. Dick had had enough.

He pushed his shoulder against the now broken door, and a gap opened. It was big enough for Dick to climb through, and soon he was standing in the same dusty and empty room he had seen once before.

It felt giant in comparison to the basement.

Dick could open his arms wide and he wouldn’t touch a wall in either direction. He could turn and twist and jump and not run into one of the few sparse pieces of furniture. He could breathe.

Without turning back, Dick hurried towards the door, breaking the lock instead of cracking it. McKernel already knew Dick was running away. One added act of property damage wouldn’t hurt the man who had betrayed Dick – and fucking kidnapped him.

And then…

Dick was standing on a street. Under the open sky. Out in the open.

It was… It was fall, the leaves on the trees in front of the old houses turning yellow and red and mauve. When Dick got locked away it had been summer, the heat burning the ground, the sun painting everything gold.

Dick gasped at the sight in front of him, at the evidence that time had passed. Almost three months. He had been gone for almost three months.

The air felt so soft – and cold – against his bare arms, and the city smelled like cars and dirt and people, even this far away from the city center. Dick hadn’t… he had forgotten how alive everything was. How human.

Tears burned behind his eyes, relief and grief mixed together. He had missed so much. He had lost so much.

It was overwhelming to stand in the middle of a street, giant open space all around him. There were so many sensations. Dick could hear a domestic dispute a few houses down, and he could smell exhaustion and trash. He could see so many different things, so many details that felt foreign and familiar at once. There was wind and there was cold and… it was  _ so _ much.

Almost too much.

But fuck it. Dick would get used to the world again. He would fly again and then… and then everything would be alright. The moment his fists would close around the handle of a grapple gun, control and peace would flood Dick’s veins, and he would… he would be free of all the worries and fears pressing down on him.

This time Dick chose to walk down a different path, since his first attempt hadn’t offered him any means to contact home. To contact Bruce. Or Alfred. The Titans.

This time Dick would do better. He had to.

His anxiety got worse with each step.

Dick wished it would stop. He needed the shadows to stop moving and his heart to calm down. But what he needed didn’t matter. Each shadow of a branch moving in the soft wind startled him, and he could constantly hear steps following him, even if there was no one in sight when he turned around.

It was the echo of his own steps, Dick told himself again and again. It was nothing bad, just normal physics. Dick  _ knew _ that… and yet, his heart almost jumped out of his chest when he turned back towards his chosen direction, started walking, and heard the steps again.

The longer he walked the less secure the open space felt. Suddenly, it was as if the clouds were stifling him, making it hard to draw a breath.

Each shadow was an enemy and each sound an attack.

Dick was on edge, to put it mildly.

It was a horrible feeling, and Dick tried his best to push the panic down, but it was getting harder and harder. He’d almost screamed when a rat crossed his path in a dirty alleyway, and Dick had to stop for ten minutes to dry his tears and stop hyperventilating.

It didn’t help that everything reminded him of  _ that _ night.

Each alleyway in Blüdhaven looked the same, and all of them felt as if a horde of rapist bastards was just waiting for Dick around the corner. Nothing had happened that night, at least nothing that would permanently harm him or demand an STI test… but his heart and mind weren’t yet ready to believe him.

It was just… it had just been a physical altercation that had ended painfully for Dick, but maybe even worse for his attackers. Dick had never dared to ask what McKernel had done to them. He remembered gunshots shortly before passing out, but other than that?

It was better if he didn’t ask. Dick couldn’t bear the idea of being grateful for whatever McKernel had done.

So, maybe that’s what put him so on edge. He had fresh trauma in regards to _ … that _ , and his body reacted in kind. Yeah, that had to be the reason for the sweat pouring down his back, and the painful rhythm of his heart.

He wasn’t panicking. He was just having a very normal response to  _ stuff _ .

The hand on his shoulder came out of nowhere. And Dick? Years of Scarecrow exposure had always shown him to have a fight response to fear gas and panic. Dick had beaten Bruce bloody once, in the years before they found working antidotes, and Bruce had been so scared for his… ward, he hadn’t defended himself against Robin’s vicious attacks.

But now? After over seventy days of being kept in a basement? After an attempted rape and so much fear?

Dick just stopped.  _ No. _ That wasn’t right. He  _ panicked _ , but in a silent and quiet way that almost frightened him more. Tears were running down his cheeks, short gasps of breath his only source of oxygen.

It was painful when his knees stopped supporting him and he fell onto the ground, the terror locking up his muscles, making it impossible to catch himself.

He was on the ground.

No.

No.

It couldn’t… it couldn’t happen again.

_ No. _

Dick wasn’t…

The world was a blurry mess –  _ just like that night _ ! – and his body shook from the horror of his own memories. He wanted to hide away, to vanish into nothing. He needed… he needed a place he could hide in. A hole. Or a closet. Something small and safe.

Everything but this alley.

Everything but the foreign hand on his shoulder and the fear that was eating him alive.

The only sound reaching Dick’s ears was his own frantic breathing, the panicked thump of his heart. There was a ringing in his ears – tinnitus. Sobs shook his body to its core. Dick felt… he felt small and weak and unimportant.

The worst thing was there was nothing he could do to stop it.

His body wouldn’t listen when he told it to fight, and his heart wouldn’t stop when he begged it to calm down. No, he was forced to remain silent, crying, broken on the ground, images of something that didn’t even happen terrorizing his mind.

Suddenly there were hands on him again, but they felt solid and real and warm. They felt nothing like the hands of  _ those _ guys. Dick’s head was pressed against the neck of someone taller than him. His body folded into the warm embrace of someone bigger than him.

It didn’t feel sexual. It felt… _ it felt safe _ .

Dick knew that smell of chestnut, and his brain told him that it was okay to relax now. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, tears stopped running down his cheeks.

By the time Dick was calm enough to focus, calm enough to trust his senses again, he was exhausted. Tired. Spent. Only then did the voice register. It was McKernel. Of course, it was.

“It’s alright, son. Just breathe with me. It’s okay. Everything will be alright. I’ll make sure of it. No more reason to cry.”

Dick’s tears started anew, only this time it wasn’t fear that made him cry, this time it was the knowledge that he had lost.

_ Day 77: _

“What were you thinking? Running away like this! You know what happens to kids like you out there! Do you _ want _ a repeat of last time? What would have happened if I hadn’t stumbled upon you? You were so panicked. Anyone and everyone could have hurt you! This was irresponsible and dumb! I am… God, I am honestly disappointed in you, Dick.”

Two days after Dick had failed to run away – because he was  _ weak, weak, weak _ – McKernel decided that Dick was well enough to receive his punishment. This time combined with a lecture that reminded him of Bruce.

Or… maybe Bruce reminded him of McKernel. The more time Dick spent with the man – against his will – the harder it got to say. The two men overlapped a lot in Dick’s brain, even if Dick hated himself for confusing something good with something as horrible as McKernel.

And yet… Dick couldn’t hide his flinch, when McKernel said he was disappointed in him. It had always been a weakness of his, this horrible need to please his father figure, but it hurt to know that McKernel had weaseled himself into the same category in his brain.

Of course, McKernel noticed Dick’s flinch. Immediately his expression softened, and his hands were uselessly moving through the air as he tried to soothe Dick:

“I still love you, of course. And I will continue to protect you. I’m… your worth is not tied to whether or not I am disappointed in you. I was just… ah, forget it, Dick. Come here.”

And then McKernel hugged him.

Dick had been sitting on his bed, as far away from the man as he could possibly get in this tiny room, but McKernel crossed the distance in seconds. He was big enough to simply pull Dick into a hug… and Dick could feel himself relax, could feel the tension bleed from his body.

Yeah, McKernel wasn’t safe. But Dick was a tactile person, and the only touch he had gotten in the last… in the last many, many days had been McKernel – and those bastards. And while McKernel was a manipulative asshole who locked Dick up… his touch was never anything but paternal, anything but warm.

Of course, his body would cave. Of course, his mind would betray him.

“Sorry.” Dick hadn’t meant for the word to escape, but swallowed by warmth and connection as he was just now, it was hard to keep his mouth shut and his thoughts focused.

“It’s alright. I just… I need you to understand that you are safe here. I will protect you, Dick. I will look after you, get you food and stuff to entertain you with. Isn’t that enough? The world is a scary place, and it chews up kids like you. They don’t deserve you, Dick. They don’t deserve your brilliant and wonderful mind. They’ll only hurt you.”

_ You hurt me as well _ , Dick wanted to say, but he bit his tongue in the last moment. What if McKernel stopped hugging him? What if he left Dick alone?

God, he had grown weak. Soft. Broken.

Dick stayed silent.

“I don’t want to punish you… but maybe I need to reattach the chain. Just for a bit. Just until you accept that you’ll only be safe in here.”

Dick didn’t answer – but he also didn’t fight when McKernel left to get the chain.

_ Day 89: _

It was hard to look in the mirror some days.

What had he become?

Something weak and pliable. Something soft.

His body was… rounder than it had ever been before, the lack of exercise shaving some width from his shoulders, his arms thin instead of lean. His face had changed as well. The dark shadows underneath his eyes looked different from the ones he had before, and his entire face looked younger, less experienced and strong.

But the biggest change had happened in his head, and Dick knew it.

He was breaking under the constant pressure; he could feel himself grow closer to McKernel. Dick was still thinking clearly; based on the way McKernel was influencing him, he would never really stop being a logical person at all. No, what McKernel was doing was way more nefarious: He twisted Dick bit by bit, until Dick would be happy in this tiny basement, until Dick would earnestly believe McKernel when he said he loved him.

(and if continuously calling him McKernel instead of Danny was the only thing Dick could do to protect himself, then he would do it)

Dick hated that it was starting to work.

Dick was touch-starved beyond imagination, he was caged, broken and scared.

Escape seemed like a far-away dream, but at least Dick hadn’t lost the urge to flee just yet. At least he could still remember what the sky tasted like, and what freedom was. At least he could still feel the urge to fly.

_ Day 111: _

Dick figured out what McKernel was doing the second time he unlocked Dick’s cuff to take him upstairs.

This morning he had gotten two anti-anxiety meds instead of one (hydroxyzine – Dick tried to remember the name), just as he had the last time McKernel planned on letting him explore the house upstairs. A week ago, Dick hadn’t gotten further than the living room before his heart started beating in a panicked frenzy, and his breathing got erratic and fast.

Before long Dick had been forced to return downstairs.

Now, Dick was looking out of the window, the distant feeling of sunlight filtering through glass on his face, when he could feel his body react to the wide-open space around him. He was nervous. Scared. On edge.

His heart was beating fast, and his fists opened and closed on their own, tension tight in his shoulders.

Dick knew the feeling by now.

It was the beginning of a panic attack.

Only, that nothing scary was happening. The sun was shining, Dick could see people walk their dogs past the old house McKernel kept him in. For a day in December it was freakingly bright outside. And yet… Dick’s heart wouldn’t calm down. His lungs strained against his chest.

He wasn’t dumb. Bruce might not have taught him medicine in any practical sense, but Dick knew how toxins worked. Most drugs were just toxins in the right dosage. Which meant… the two anti-anxiety meds McKernel had given him were prone to trigger a panic response, based on the fact that one pill seemed to calm him down - McKernel was giving him a too high dosage. 

Which was what McKernel wanted, of course.

Dick understood negative reinforcement, and he hated to see firsthand how it worked.

Already, Dick was scared of dark alleys and going out alone at night, but if McKernel continued this Dick feared there might be a day on which Dick was too afraid to leave the basement at all. McKernel was already training it into him, after all.

His nails cut into the palms of his hands, anger and fear both making it hard to stay in the present.

Dick wanted to rage and scream and cry – but it felt like losing to allow these primal urges to overtake him. McKernel already controlled so much of Dick’s life… if Dick started to react how the other man wanted him to react… he wouldn’t give his captor even an inch more than he had already been forced to give.

Dick stayed stoic as he stared out of the window. It didn’t matter that his heart was climbing up his throat, or that his nails cut deep enough to draw blood. He wouldn’t give McKernel the satisfaction to see him cry. Again.

It was bad enough that the man had seen Dick break down only last week.

And during his escape attempts.

And when the nightmares got so bad, not even the pills could keep them at bay.

He wouldn’t cry today. He wouldn’t.

_ Day 127 _ :

At some point… Dick was too tired to fight it.

He cried and panicked and hyperventilated when McKernel uncuffed him and brought him upstairs. It was working.  _ It was fucking working _ . Dick hated McKernel and the world and himself, but it was working.

Sometimes he still tried to stay silent, to stay calm, but the last time Dick had done that, McKernel had opened the door to the backyard – which Dick hadn’t even known existed – and pushed him outside.

For exactly four minutes Dick had been calm and happy, the feeling of wind and weather touching his body a great one. And then… the flashback had come out of nowhere, the shadowy trees morphing into rapists and murderers and Batman’s worst villains in a matter of seconds. Suddenly, Dick had no longer been standing between potted plants and dry grass, no, Dick had been in  _ that _ alley, on the floor, foreign hands on him… only this time nobody stopped them. Only this time Dick was awake the whole time through.

McKernel had to sedate him to get him back inside.

Dick wasn’t sure if he had stopped shaking ever since.

The rooms in the house weren’t as bad, but Dick could feel himself begin to hyperventilate even in the safety of his basement, when he thought about leaving the house. He no longer needed extra drugs to keep him afraid, his brain had been successfully rewired to fear the outdoors.

Dick only wanted to fly.

He wanted to fly so badly, and yet the thought of standing beneath the open sky, made him sick to his stomach.

McKernel kept on drugging him every few days, however, and Dick could feel himself grow weak from the constant panic and fear thrumming through his body. Soon enough he would beg McKernel to let him stay downstairs. Soon enough McKernel would have won.

Dick hated to think about it.

_ Day 142: _

Dick had never been a master artist, his skills focused on designing superhero uniforms and doodling love confessions in math textbooks. But with his space growing more limited, Dick found himself toying with the art supplies, McKernel had left him.

The only place Dick could exist in without his heart frantically beating or his breath coming in short bursts was the basement and the small bathroom behind the privacy screen. He had read most of the books, and anyways… Dick wasn’t great at reading too many books at once.

He needed movement. Excitement. Something to do.

So, art it was.

It was surprisingly relaxing to paint landscapes and houses and people. All the things he missed dearly. All things he could no longer have.

And drawing was better than being bored.

Because being bored meant thinking.

How long had he been here? Four months? Almost five?

Had Bruce forgotten him already? Was Dick nothing more than a headstone behind Wayne Manor? Did Jason even remember his almost big brother?

Did they even miss him? Bruce and Dick hadn’t been talking at the time he went missing, and Jason and Dick… the few interactions they shared, couldn’t be called a relationship.

Alfred… Alfred would be sad, but the butler had never allowed himself to linger. Something akin to anger burned through Dick at the thought that Alfred and Bruce could heal -- move on -- from their loss. Dick wanted them to move on! Really! And yet… he wanted them to suffer just as he was forced to endure.

His hand tightened around the pen Dick was holding.

_ No. _

He couldn’t think like this.

McKernel would win if Dick thought like this.

Bruce loved him. Alfred loved him. Jason… knew him. They wouldn’t just forget him. They just… they thought he was dead. Clark probably thought the same. As did Roy, Donna, Kory, Wally, Garth…

For a guy like him, once drowning in friends, Dick sure felt alone.

Maybe drawing hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

_ Day 152: _

The book hit McKernel straight in the face, and Dick laughed when blood gushed out of his captor’s broken nose.

He had done it.

He had cracked. Screamed. Fought.

It was useless, of course. Dick was too weak to really make a difference, his throw only hitting McKernel out of pure luck… but he had done it. He had fought back.

Hysterical glee bubbled through Dick, laughter pouring out of him like poison. He felt giddy and electrified. Not even the horrified look on McKernel’s face could dampen his mood.

The man looked honestly baffled at Dick’s display of madness, but for once Dick couldn’t care less. So, what if McKernel punished him? So, what? His entire existence was already punishment enough!

He couldn’t leave! He couldn’t fly! He couldn’t flip and grapple and fall!

Dick Grayson’s wings had been clipped, his body grounded and buried in dirt. It was only normal that his mind would fray… Graysons were made to be wild, made to be wonderful and majestic, but never caged.

There was nothing else to lose, was there?

Dick only had his life left to give.

McKernel was saying something, but Dick didn’t listen, his own mind preoccupied by the weight of his situation. Slowly the glee bled out of his body, replaced by waves of dread.

Had he truly lost so much? Was he truly this broken already?

His senseless laughter turned into sobs, his shoulders shaking and quivering.

_ No. _

Dick didn’t want to cry.

He was so sick of crying.

He wanted to sing and laugh and dance. He wanted to be happy.

_ He wanted to fly. _

Warm hands pulled him into a hug, and before Dick could blink, he was cradled in McKernel’s strong arms.  _ Safety _ . Dick hated how his mind had come to associate something so wonderful with someone as horrible as McKernel… and yet, just because he knew what the older man was doing, didn’t mean that Dick couldn’t feel it work.

Some of the giddiness subsided, some of the pain ebbed away.

Tears were still painting tear tracks down his cheeks, but the pressure was gone, replaced by McKernel’s soft voice in his ears:

“It’s alright, son. It’s alright. It was a stressful week, I understand. But it’ll be alright. I promise. Just take deep breaths and it will be just fine….”

Dick hated that he believed him.

_ Day 164: _

Dick caved. He begged McKernel to stop taking him upstairs. Just the door to his basement opening spiked his anxiety.

He needed…

Dick needed to feel safe.

And right now… the basement was the only place that registered as such. Sometimes Dick almost longed for a smaller room, something that would allow for nothing bad to exist at all, simply because it would be too small to fit anything besides Dick.

Dick never voiced these thoughts… because what if McKernel complied? What if Dick got a closet or a crest to hide in? What if Dick would be grateful for even less freedom? Even less room to exist in, as a person?

It got harder and harder to remember why he had once felt comfortable in open spaces. His soul would always sing the song of the skies, but his heart was deadly afraid of falling and the vastness of the horizon.

Dick was still enough himself to recognize what was happening, but somehow that made it almost worse.

Would it be easier if Dick simply no longer cared? Would the fear be easier to bear if Dick truly believed the basement to be safer? Would he feel more at rest should he no longer remember Batman, Nightwing and Robin?

Because right now his mind was split. He wanted to escape and be free. He craved the circus, his friends, laughter… and yet, his mind was broken enough to forget what controlled falling felt like, broken enough to let the panic keep him contained.

McKernel had permanently unlocked the chain three days ago.

Dick hadn’t thought about leaving the basement even once.

His fear wouldn’t let him.

_ Day 170: _

Dick tried to remember what Bruce sounded like, but all he could hear was McKernel.

Had their voices always been this similar? Or was Dick just forgetting what his childhood had sounded like?

His heart broke when he realized it was the latter… and it shattered when he tried to remember his dad’s voice or his mom’s laughter and found he couldn’t.

Dick didn’t fight McKernel when he came by later, hugging Dick close and telling him that everything would be alright.

It was a lie – but then again… why did it even matter?

_ Day 187: _

“I hate you. I hope you know that.”

“I know… but that’s alright. One day you’ll see that I only want the best for you.”

_ Day 199: _

If Dick remembered the date correctly – and it was getting harder and harder to keep count – they were nearing spring.

Last year Dick had celebrated his birthday surrounded by the Titans, Uncle Clark and Aunt Diana, his guests of honor. It had been fun – Dick had laughed so much, he had thrown up some of the cake, his stomach cramping from the exertion.

It had been a great day, fun and joy shimmering in the air.

This year, he would celebrate his birthday alone with McKernel and some cake from his favorite bakery.

(the cake started to taste like ash on his tongue)

Maybe they would watch a movie, just as they had done for all the other anniversaries Dick had spent down here. Dick wasn’t sure if he liked that thought or not.

Were the birds already singing their spring songs? Were they dancing and flying and yelling about their happiness? Were they celebrating the return to life, the return of warmth and sun and light?

If they did, Dick couldn’t hear them, his basement too far away from the garden to hear them sing. As it was, Dick was left to wonder… had the birds already returned? Was it truly already spring? Or was it winter still, ice and snow hiding the world?

Dick missed the sky – but some part of him accepted that he was no longer a bird, no longer Robin. It wasn’t his job anymore to greet the first wafts of spring with laughter and spread wings.

No, his job was to stay down here and be safe, no matter how much his skin itched and his heart screamed.

_ Day 212: _

“What do you want to do for your birthday?”

McKernel was smiling. He sat on the chair as always, dinner spread out in front of him on Dick’s desk, his eyes focused on Dick and the listless way he poked his chicken. It was the third time this week, McKernel had brought them chicken to eat.

It had been clear in the beginning that McKernel didn’t cook himself – heck, if Dick recalled correctly, none of the men in the precinct ever admitted they could cook – but lately the constant take-out was bugging him.

It wasn’t even interesting take-out. No, it was burgers or chicken or Pad Thai.

“I want home-cooked goulash.”

“What?”

“You asked me what I want. I want food that hasn’t come out of an industrial kitchen. I want something that actually tastes good, and that is… that reminds me of home.”

Dick stopped to draw a deep breath. It had been a long time since he talked this much at once, and he already felt dumb. Why would McKernel listen to him? Why would the man even care?

“Forget it…” Mumbled Dick. It had been a mistake. Regret filled his veins. He has just shown McKernel something he didn’t want the older man to know. It made him feel vulnerable to talk about food like this…

The idea of a homemade goulash no longer filled him with warmth. No, dread seeped through his bones at the thought of McKernel touching something as holy as this. Alfred had learned how to cook the perfect goulash for Dick, after he had cried – nine years of age and so, so lost – the first time he’d tried the butler’s failed attempt.

Over the years Alfred’s and his mom’s goulash had become one in his memories, both filled with warmth and home and love.

McKernel wasn’t allowed to touch that.

This was a mistake.

Dick should have stayed silent. He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have…

“Okay. I… I am not much of a cook. My wife was always the one who enjoyed baking and such… but if it makes you happy… I’ll try. I’ll really, really try.”

“I said, forget it.”

“But Dick… it’s obviously close to your heart. If it makes your birthday better… I will make the best goulash you have ever tasted.”

Dick hated McKernel’s smile – but he didn’t fight it either.

There was no reason to fight. He would lose no matter what.

_ Day 219: _

Dick turned twenty and he hadn’t seen the sun in over two months, he hadn’t seen the sky in almost a hundred days. Dick hadn’t been free in over half a year.

Dick turned twenty and McKernel made goulash, just as he had promised, and it tasted horrible, but Dick cried anyways.

He cried because McKernel  _ tried _ and he looked so sorry, because he hadn’t succeeded in making a dish that would taste good. He cried because it tasted horrible, and, Thank God, because Dick couldn’t stand the thought of McKernel taking this memory – this dish – away from him as well.

Later that day, they watched a movie. Dick had no idea what it was called. He fell asleep early on, cuddled into McKernel’s sturdy arms, breathing in the smell of chestnuts, sweat, and burned beef. He was empty. He was safe.

He let his eyes fall closed.

_ Day 234: _

He had to prove it to himself, that was the only reason why Dick did it.

He crept closer and closer towards the door, ignoring his frantic heartbeat, ignoring the sweat making his shirt stick to his skin.

This wasn’t about escaping, Dick knew that. This was about proving himself that he could… that he  _ could  _ leave. That this was not the end, that there was a world beyond this basement.

At least that’s what he told himself, as he took the last step towards the door, crossing the final distance, with a shudder.

There had been a time in which Dick had been strong, but now he was only afraid. What it must have felt like to fight battles and monsters and win… Dick was far too comfortable with losing at this point. The failure to leave felt like a second nature, sticking to his skin like glue.

Not even a hot shower could dislodge this inability to conquer his demons.

And yet… today Dick was trying. Today Dick was focused on proving himself wrong. Or right. He was no longer sure who he even was. Of if it mattered.

The door handle felt cold in his hand. Dick swallowed, before pushing the handle down, opening the door and revealing the hallway. The dark hallway. The unsafe hallway.

His heart tried to jump out of his throat, his vision tunneling…

Dick should go back. He should return to his room, hide under the covers of his bed, and ignore the hallway on the other side of the door. It wasn’t even truly the hallway that scared him. No, the hallway was dark and small and narrow… all things Dick had learned to prefer. It was the thing the hallway stood for, that made anxiety and panic crawl up his spine.

Because after the hallway… there was freedom. And freedom meant open spaces, tall ceilings. Freedom meant the sky.

Dick wept in pain. And he wept for the cruel irony of life. He wanted nothing more than to fly, and yet the sky had become his enemy.

But no… today he would venture into the hallway. Today he would open up the trap door. Today Dick would face his fears.

A steel band constricted around his chest, both his heart and lungs struggling against Dick’s plan. They wanted him to stay… they had been conditioned by McKernel. Dick wanted to do nothing more than cave in.

The basement had been Elysium, and he was leaving it behind.

But a flicker of his old strength resurfaced, Nightwing desperate to prove himself. Dick took a step into the dark. And then he took another one.

He managed to reach the step ladder before the panic became too much. Breathing hurt, and Dick only planned on sitting down for a moment, a chance to allow himself to calm down, but when his butt touched the wood, he knew it was too late. He wouldn’t stand up on his own again, not with the ferocity of his heartbeat, the shallowness of his breathing.

_ Fuck. _

So much for proving himself.

So much for showing strength and resolution.

Dick was stuck, his own panic the only jailer he needed. The only jailer he truly feared.

_ Day 251: _

McKernel noticed Dick’s decline in mood. He told Dick as much during one of the board game evenings the man had introduced a few days back.

“What’s weighing you down?”

“You won.”

Dick’s words seemed to have no impact, McKernel simply raising an eyebrow before he moved his bishop across the chessboard:

“I am pretty sure you’re annihilating me this game.”

“Shut it. You know what I mean. You won. I won’t leave. I  _ can’t _ leave. Not without help. Not without… without being afraid.”

“I told you, I would keep you safe.”

The words sent a shiver down his spine, but Dick tried to keep his reaction from his face. Instead, he stared at the chessboard, searching for the best possible move.

He had grown dependent on McKernel. The man brought him food, washed his clothes, offered Dick comfort and human connection. Dick had agoraphobia of the highest degree, trauma he didn’t want to address, and no means to leave this shithole behind. And even though all of these things were McKernel’s fault… Dick couldn’t help himself, he wanted McKernel to stay.

As much as it pained him to admit, he  _ needed _ McKernel.

Dick moved his rook, in the hopes to clear a path for his knight. Maybe he could beat McKernel. Maybe he could win.

“I am not sure I approve of the price I had to pay for you to achieve that.”

It was the most diplomatic way Dick could phrase it… and it made McKernel smile:

“I assure you… now that you are safe, the happiness will come as well.”

As if to underline his words, McKernel’s queen took Dick’s knight.

_ Day 259: _

Dick found old Superhero comics in one of the shelves, how he had missed them until now, Dick had no idea. At first Dick laughed when he read the adventures of the Gray Ghost… and then he remembered Bruce, and the excited smile on his former guardian’s face when a special edition of the comic was being printed and Bruce woke Dick up early, so they could go together to buy it.

Not even a comic was untouched by the world. By his past.

Dick was careful when he put the comic back onto the shelf. It wouldn’t do if he made himself any sadder than he already was… while the urge to hurt existed, Dick had never liked the idea of falling that far. Of being that broken.

Maybe that was idealistic, maybe it was dumb…

Dick left the shelf behind and searched through the art history books next to his bed. He would have to ask McKernel for new ones soon – he had read everything he could stomach to touch.

_ Day 269: _

“Why me?”

They were watching a movie, Dick leaning against McKernel’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth of another human body close to his.

Sometimes Dick showered too hot, just to feel alive, just to feel touched. The scalding water would turn his skin bright red and sensitive… Dick favored movie nights with McKernel, because at least McKernel was human, at least he was real.

Tonight, they were watching  _ Sarah’s Key _ , and Dick felt unsettled seeing the horrors of the past happening on screen.

“Why ‘you what’?”

“Why did you ‘save’ me? There had to be other rookies before me. Other officers that reminded you of your son. So, why me?”

For a moment McKernel was silent, the French actress was crying on screen, as yet another atrocity was committed by the Nazis. Dick didn’t want to watch this. He didn’t want to see any more suffering.

At first, Dick didn’t even hear McKernel’s voice over the faint sound of gunfire coming from the phone, but it didn’t take long for the words to register:

“You were different. You walked into the precinct straight out of the police academy, and I could already tell that you were special. You were better than the rest of us. Bright. Strong. Intelligent. I knew you wouldn’t survive long. So, I asked the Captain to assign me as your TO.”

So, McKernel being his training officer hadn’t been a coincidence. Dick wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Was there a timeline in which this didn’t happen? In which Dick hadn’t walked into a trap so obvious Batman would be disappointed in him? Or was Dick predisposed to get kidnapped and manipulated by his co-worker? His partner?

Dick was too tired to care. After… too many months spent in captivity, Dick just didn’t have it in him any longer.

“And then I found you snooping. I knew, you would be dead sooner rather than later… so, I went to my aunt’s house, in the West Hill and prepared this for you. And now here you are. Safe.”

Dick hid his face in McKernel’s neck as another slaughter happened on screen. His cheeks were damp when he whispered:

“Can we stop watching this movie? Please?”

“Sure, son. Whatever you want.”

McKernel stopped the movie. Dick was relieved. He fell asleep like this: pressed against McKernel’s side, breathing in the familiar scent. For once his head was silent, for once his dreams were blank.

_ Day 277: _

McKernel only stopped by for half an hour, unease evident on his face, tension in his steps.

Dick tried to ignore it, and he didn’t ask when McKernel took a deep breath and allowed himself a short pause before leaving again. He couldn’t care for McKernel. He couldn’t spend his energy on being concerned for an asshole like that.

(Dick tossed and turned in bed that night, anxiety making his skin crawl. What if something had happened? What if McKernel never returned?)

_ Day 287: _

Something was going on; Dick just wasn’t sure what.

For the past week and a half, McKernel had been tense, often not staying for long. Dick hated how needy he felt, when he asked for a hug or some comfort. It was McKernel’s fault – Dick had no other source of human touch.

He  _ needed _ McKernel, if only to not lose his mind.

The older man always complied, pulling Dick into a crushing embrace, until the fire ants under his skin disappeared and some resemblance of calm returned. And yet… nothing could quell the suspicion and fear coursing through Dick’s body when he saw McKernel’s behavior.

Something fishy was going on.

Just because Dick was no longer a hero, no longer a cop, didn’t mean, he wasn’t still a detective. It wasn’t just “work stress” as McKernel claimed, that much was clear.

But no matter how often Dick asked, how needy and soft he presented himself… McKernel never cracked. He smiled at Dick, hugged and soothed him, and then he would tell a lie before vanishing again.

Dick wanted to follow. He tried once, but he had barely reached the ladder before he had to return to his room and hide under his bed, just to calm his racing heart.

He hated the panic, he hated the fear, but at this point… they were a part of him, weren’t they? They were  _ his _ .

Dick would simply have to find another way to uncover McKernel’s secret. To be perfectly honest… Dick hadn’t felt this alive in months. The mystery ignited something inside of him, made him excited and bubbly and interested.

Momentarily Dick had played with the idea that this as well had been McKernel’s plan, but then he saw the stress lines on the man’s face and realized that nobody could act that well. Especially not McKernel.

No, there was something else happening as well. There was a mystery to uncover.

It made unease bubble in his stomach.

But Dick could figure this out. If just to keep his mind occupied and his soul alive. If just to remain Dick Grayson for a bit longer.

(Dick wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold onto himself otherwise)

_ Day 290: _

Dick sat in front of the door waiting.

McKernel was late.

The man hadn’t shown up to bring Dick breakfast or lunch, and now it was getting late, and there was still no McKernel in sight. His stomach was cramping from hunger – or maybe it was fear.

Dick couldn’t even remember the last time he hadn’t seen McKernel at least once a day. He couldn’t even remember existing without his captor.

Something had to be wrong, right?

Something must have happened?

Dick continued to wait, the floor hard underneath his ass, the room empty, without another voice to fill it.

McKernel didn’t come.

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback gives me life! <3


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